


Cheater

by Hakyeonsmelanin



Category: Kpop - Fandom, VIXX
Genre: Angst, Cheating, Drinking, Emotional Infidelity, F/M, Low Self Esteem, Smut, Toxic Relationship, domestic abuse, hyuks a soloist, reader just needs a hug, y’all just ain’t good for each other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-12
Updated: 2019-08-18
Packaged: 2019-10-27 03:46:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17759195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hakyeonsmelanin/pseuds/Hakyeonsmelanin
Summary: You know he doesn’t love you anymore.





	1. Broken

Hyuk is late again.

Looking up at the clock for what seems like the millionth time, you sigh. The numbers read in a cruel, bold black: **11:23**. He is late by a whole four hours, out with _her_ no doubt.

Frowning deeply, you force yourself up and begin to clean up the dinner that is set out on the table. His favourite chicken dish; succulent and well-seasoned, the finest, most tender cuts of chicken breast, thigh and wings— cold and untouched. After placing everything into the right containers and into the fridge— slow menial tasks that soothe the growing, gnawing anxiety inside your chest— you quickly rummage through some cabinets before finding a post-it-note and pen.

Scribbling onto the flimsy, yellow paper, you stick it onto the fridge and make your way to bed.

_Happy Anniversary baby._

~

At first, eight ignorant months ago, your boyfriend had developed a brand new routine which distinctly excluded you. A new era, a new comeback, always required extra attention to detail, extra hours to be put in to create all-kills on the charts and hits amongst mainstream media. It was a plausible lie, you supposed.

“Hyuk, you home?” A smile, a hug and he hums in response before looking for some snacks.

”Tired? How’s comeback prep going, sweetheart? Ooh there’s leftover pasta in the fridge—“ you skip over to his spot and direct him to his long awaited meal, and he thanks you with a kiss to the forehead. Hyuk is so lordly, so graceful, in everything he does that you blush a little. Your heart swells in affection, in pride. How lucky you are, to have such a man all to yourself.

”Yeah, it’s a long process. I’m gonna be spending a lot of time at the studio, smoothing over the last touches and perfecting the album, then I gotta meet up with the choreo team, afterwards do some promo and photoshoots, couple of fansigns— its a busy few months.” He finishes off with a sigh, heavy and his shoulders shake with weight of it all. 

Pulling him close, you embrace him with all your might. The rattling of the microwave behind you is the only noise in the apartment— you’ve been meaning to replace it for some time now. 

”It’s okay I know it’s stressful but you’ll pull through. You always do, it’s why you’re biggest in the industry.” Smiling up at him, you notice his muscles are tense, his eyes are disinterested. He stares at you before his lips jerk into a smile and he releases you.

At the time, it’s charming. It’s sweet. It’s lovely because it’s Hyuk’s smile and everything Hyuk does is worthy of your affection. Looking back, you see hesitation and discomfort— a man who is in his house but not at home.

You suppose you should have known from the start.

~

She, whoever she is, has managed to worm her way into every second of your life.

As sad, as desperate as it seems, a small part of you likes to think your relationship is not completely broken. Perhaps there is a chance of repair and you are glad to take the first step, to crash around in a toolbox full of unfamiliar utilities and take apart your relationship bit by bit. Remove the surface, peer into the cogs and bits and bobs that are supposed to spin and whir—keep this whole thing alive. Find the problem, fix it and never look back. 

So now you sit, with a tight smile and trembling hand, trying to engage in small talk with your boyfriend of four years. _Conversation and understanding,_ you tell yourself, _is the key to fixing this._

Perhaps you have neglected him, made him feel as though he isn’t of the importance. How foolish of him, to believe anyone other than himself takes priority in your life, in your heart. You will show him the truth— that he is the breath in your lungs and blood in your veins, the love of your life.

”So, anywho, I told her that I was—“ his eyes slide over to phone which is practically exploding with notifications. You ignore it and inhale deeply, steadying your voice to tell him a story you know he has zero interest in.

”She looked shocked! It was actually quite funny, come to think of it—“

This time, his phone rings and he leans backwards with a perturbed expression. Whether it’s because of you or the unknown caller, you’re unsure.

”Sorry, can I take this?” He asks with a hard brow so you can’t really refuse. After checking his phone and just _who_ it is that’s interrupting your time together, he saunters away with an almost childlike spring in his step.

For a second, you’re grateful that you don’t have to look at him any longer.

Then, you wonder what quality she possesses that you don’t, what has captivated the heart of Han Sanghyuk. Is is purely physical? She must have the body of a supermodel and fuck like a pornstar to have compete with your love and affection. Perhaps she is an idol, too. Relating to his struggles, being under the critical public eye and the scrutiny that comes with it. You, a painfully average business analyst, cannot. It is moments like this, filled with whirlpools of speculation that are hardest for you.

How much do you lack as a woman, is the question.

”Need to go, I’m sorry.” He texts as he bids you goodbye, glancing at you a few times from the corner of his eyes before walking out and slamming the door shut.

You laugh to yourself a little. He doesn’t even offer excuses anymore.

~

Her name is Eunseo. 

You groan as Hyuk enters you, relishing in the stretch. His skin is hot, covered in a light sheen of sweat and the sinewy feel of his arms around you makes it so much more pleasurable. 

This was the closest you can possibly be to him, he inside of you, apart of you. You are one. 

Groaning from behind you, his hand comes down on the aching skin of your ass—it makes you smile a little, even if he doesn’t love you at least sexual chemistry is shared. A shrill yell comes from your throat and you bury your flushed face into the pillow beneath you. You scream loudly, feeding his ego, making him want more just as you want him. 

You reach your climax quickly, an product of being intimate with **him**. Shuddering and shaking, you feel the last sparks of pleasure within you die down like a disinkindled fire whilst Hyuk is still going, chasing his climax like a wild animal from behind. 

Then you hear it. 

**”Eunseo...”**

It is nothing but a whisper, nothing but a small breath but you catch it. You catch the name and the familiarity it holds. As he cums inside you—filling you with his hot seed— he thinks of Kwon Eunseo, a music producer at his company, the very same who worked on his last album and his current project right now. 

You keep your head in your pillow as he slips out of you, hiding your tears. 

~

Its harder to face him, these days.

After you hearing her name, a subtle moan in a moment of passion, you find you cannot look into his eyes anymore. They are dull, ugly things. Empty and yet, full of trickery and deceit. You don’t know who he is anymore.

He makes you face the other way so he can picture her, his dream girl, in your place. He leaves you at home to sleep in a cold bed, finding happiness in warming hers. He says he loves you with a voice that is so deep and faint, it is almost a whisper, because he cannot bear the reality of being with you. What have you done to make him so unhappy?

Swallowing your pride for the last time, you are willing to take the dive. You pray he will come with you, that he won’t let you fall alone.

“Hyuk, I booked a cabin lodge for my birthday. It’s for just the two of us,” You begin with a smile so wide it hurts. His eyes are cool and impassive, you can tell he’s still focusing on the lyrics in front of him.

Pulling up a seat, you cosy up closer to him. With a nervous laugh, you continue.

”—I already checked with your manager and he said your schedule’s clear from the 18th onwards, at least for a while. It’ll be nice to get away, don’t you think?”

Now his eyes are hard, narrowed like a wolf before it closes in on its prey. You are the lamb, spotless and sacrificial and so utterly foolish.

“You already booked it? Without checking with me?”

Your smile becomes crooked and anxious, eyes darting in between him and a crack on ceiling. How long had that been there for? A cough, and then you answer.

“I-I just wanted to do something with you. I thought it would be a good surprise.” Hyuk furrowed his brows at this, staring at you in a way you could only describe as venomously. 

_“A good surprise?_ Am I a five year old, that you need to surprise me? Didn’t it occur to you that I had things to do?” He stands now and you realise just how big he is. Broad shoulders and thick arms like sturdy tree trunks— he hulks over you and you shrink. He begins his march over to the kitchen, presumably to avoid you.

But you feel angry now, devalued and humiliated. He has rejected you once more, ignored your final plea. You follow him with loud, crashing footsteps and gritted teeth. He will listen to you.

“It’s my birthday, Hyuk. We hardly see each other. What could be more import-“ he cuts you off, rude and entitled thing he is. 

“A lot of things could be more important, Y/N. I had plans and now I can’t go because you’re guilt tripping me to go on some vacation I wasn’t even told about!” He raises his voice now, the defensiveness in his tone sending knives into your chest. You’d rather him end it with you right now, than lie to your face again.

 _“Sanghyuk_...you missed our third year anniversary. I waited four whole hours and you never came home. You. don’t. come. home. Ever!” You match his volume, although you speak with an emotion, a sincerity that he could never feign.

Hyuk stares back and resist the urge to smack that look from his face. Stoicism and heartbreak mix as well as oil and water.

“It’s work.”

“Work? Your fucking schedule is clear, Hyuk! Just tell me you hate me! Tell me you don’t love me anymore! Tell me that you can’t stand the sight of me Hyuk!” Your voice is shrill, like the sound of a gentle herbivore as a lion’s fangs sink into flesh.

“Do it! Do it, Hyuk! Be a fucking man for once in your life and tell me how you feel!” Hyuk simply stands there, watching you seethe. Your vision is blurry with tears but from the corner of your eye you see a glass of water so, on its own accord, your hand grapples it. Hyuk narrowly, just barely, dodges it.

_Give me something to work with here. Say something, do something._

“Are you fucking insane? What are you doing?” He yells at last, face contorted in a sudden, heaven-splitting fury.

A strange feeling of relief fills you at the sight. It is cool and spreads through you quickly, your anger dissipates. Finally, he shows real emotion. Behind the manufactured face of an idol, prim and proper and completely conservative, there is emotion. There is feeling hidden deep inside the monstrosity that is, your boyfriend.

“Are you sure it’s just work?” Hyuk’s eyes snap back to you. He’s a panting, grunting mess, and you finally realise just how close he is to you.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” 

But seeing his face so close to yours, the lovely fairness of his complexion, the slope of his nose, the brown of his eyes. How is someone so beautiful, so rotten?

You don’t respond.

~

Hyuk adores her. 

You stand outside the bedroom, listening intently to your boyfriend’s words. He is casual in his lies, uncaring in his deceit. You wonder if there is anyone on this planet rivals his level of selfishenss. 

“Mmm...that sounds nice, I’ll be over in a bit. I’ve just gotta talk to her for a while. You know what she’s like... yeah, clingy.” 

“Yeah, well, I’ll see you soon babe. I love you.” 

At this, you smile. Poor girl thinks he values her, that he loves her. That their bond, their sordid attempt at a _relationship_ means something to him. The realisation had hit you long ago. 

There is nothing sacred to Han Sanghyuk.

~

The bustle of the the bar is somewhat therapeutic to you. You aren’t alone tonight, simply because you cannot cope with being alone tonight. Life like this cannot be found in your home so you will search for it yourself; cross oceans and borders until you find what it is that you need. You know you cannot find it with Hyuk.

__

__

Gulping down the bitter contents of your bottle, footsteps sound next to you.

__

“A woman as beautiful as yourself shouldn’t be drinking alone.” The voice is soft and smooth, although it contains a hint of nervousness— you smile at it.

__

The man’s face is wide but delicately formed with high cheekbones and a soft jaw. There is a maturity in his eyes, something gentlemanly that entices you— it creates a stunning dichotomy between Hyuk and your new _friend_. He is a man, whilst Hyuk is a boy. He is the future whilst Hyuk is a fragment of the past.

__

“I’m not drinking alone. You’re here now.” 

__

He chuckles in response, seemingly relieved at your acceptance of his flirtations and orders some more liquor. You share drinks and secrets, although you keep the biggest, the secret of a dead romance to yourself. What he doesn’t know can’t hurt him, you suppose.

__

The hours pass like seconds, you find yourself completely enamoured with this stranger—Taekwoon— drawn in like a moth to light. His skin is taut, his lips are full and all you can think is that want him so badly.

__

“You’re staring.” He smiles lopsidedly, placing his glass down.

__

”Can’t help it.” You peer at him through your lashes. “Come home with me tonight.”

__

Words spoken with a broken heart are dangerous; a weapon as sharp as any blade, as forceful as the strongest of bullets. You know this but it doesn’t stop you from saying them. Taekwoon smiles, stands and takes your hand in his.

__

”Lead the way.”

__


	2. Aftermath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You can’t believe what you have done.

A cold sweat sits uncomfortably on your skin. An even colder feeling— one of guilt— pulses through your bloodstream, it leaves no part of your body untouched, uncontaminated. You are filthy from the inside out.

Just what have you done?

Taekwoon has unmistakably, unintentionally yet inexorably become your dirty little secret. A deep, intrusive stain on the fabric of your character— the integrity which you had prided yourself in for so many years. Tarnished. Tainted. You love the thrill of it all.

The rush of satisfaction that comes from being desired, wanted, needed, _loved_ has caused this sordid affair to embed itself within the fragments of your heart. It fills the gaps, patches them together messily and in the most shameful of ways, completes you. If Hyuk cannot find comfort in you anymore, then there are others who can so gladly.

Taekwoon, with his kind eyes and soft words, should have been left in the dim lighting of that hotel room, tangled in those bedsheets that were marked with your arousal. A quick fuck, a necessary release of built up stress, your _revenge._

Your universe.

His touch was unbearably passionate, his words were sincere; he was more than a serendipitous encounter— his sex was fate, his love was fate, _he_ was fate. Numbers flew into the mix, messages were exchanged and somehow, you have ended up in his arms once more. Twice. Thrice. Again and again and _again._

Taboo has never felt so right.

Jung Taekwoon is an ceaseless abyss, a sinkhole forming right under your feet, sucking up every last object in its path. He is the most beautifully destructive force you have ever encountered. He shatters and breaks your heart whilst healing and mending your soul. With a broken heart and smiling face, you jump in headfirst in hope of him consuming you completely.

~

”You back?”

Your boyfriend, Han Sanghyuk, is a critically acclaimed singer. The tabloids and press smother him with praise, he is the songbird of the generation— a rare and authentic talent who shines in an industry which lacks all authenticity. His voice is likened to smooth, rich honey; warm and indulgent and so fucking deep. There is no one he cannot entice. No one is safe. It sickens you to your core, leaves a bad taste in your mouth. To think that there are millions of fans throwing away their hard earned money to watch this man— this cheat— sing and dance and _pretend._

  
For the world, the voice of Han Sanghyuk is a blessing.  


For you, his voice is the trumpet that sounds the day of reckoning; the death of all things good and lively—romance and purity, the honesty and values life, itself, have been built upon. Deaf to the indulgence of his voice, his voice to you, bares a resemblance to garbage. Hot, stinking eggs that moulded with age, an abundance of slimy maggots wriggling and writhing in their gluttonous endeavour—gobbling and gulping and munching and crunching and—

With a dismissive nod, you answer with a simple ‘yeah’.

“Mmm,” he hums , before looking down at his phone. “It’s late. Is your manager being an asshole again? Do you want me to talk to him?”

The sentiment is sweet, although insincere, inspiring an insurmountable, inexpressible feeling of rage within you. It roars and snaps its jaws, clawing its way to the surface. You wish you could let it out, just to teach Hyuk that underestimating you has always been his fatal flaw.

He doesn't even _think_ you are capable of being with another man. 

He takes your love for him as naivety, interprets your affection as clinginess—insults your deference to him. Perhaps it is deserved. Your love has blinded you, tinted the world in a saccharine shade of rose and for so long, you relished in this. No more. No more wasting your time and energy.

You wish you had never met him.

Bristling at his words, his pathetic attempts at small talk, you direct your eyes to his own. Your stare is invasive, a raging storm yet an entirely calm sea. You hope it pierces him, ruins him. You hope he cannot sleep, that his body and mind is wracked with guilt and every time he closes his eyes he comes back to this moment— your eyes that now see him clearly for what he is.

”He resigned a year ago,” the clipped edge to your tone made him slouch slightly, shrunk into his broad shoulders. Cheating, lying and inattentive. At least you were only two of those things.

“Really? I didn’t know.”

”...I’m off to bed. See you in the morning.” Placing a sloppy kiss on his cheek, you saunter into your bedroom.

Smiling to yourself, your fingers graze the the fabric of your clothing, your tenderly bruised nape and cascading locks of hair. A spicy, distinctly _masculine_ scent wafts into your nostrils. You hoped he smelt it too.

~

He is just so warm.

Every inch of Taekwoon’s body, just seems to radiate heat. It’s ridiculous, how his skin never seemed to cool down, how his cheeks always carry a flush to them and his fingertips burn against your cold flesh. So warm, so inviting, so passionate. He is a blazing fire, a hot red, whilst Hyuk is a sad collection of dying embers—luscious orange fading into charcoal grey. 

”I only get like this around you...” he trails off, a lazy smile on his lips. He’s so coy, always speaking in a quietly apprehensive tone. It’s refreshing, even a little ego boost, compared to Hyuk’s unwavering narcissism.

“I’m honoured.” You tease, running your fingers over his scalp, digging your fingernails in and you swear he _purrs_.

”...But then again, I don’t really spend hours drilling other people into mattresses—“

”Taek!” You exclaimed in mock horror, retracting your hand and he blows a extra air out of his nose in humour.

A small voice whispers to you that it wants this moment to last forever. You agree, with childlike naivety.

Locked in a tight embrace, your head rests on the hard sinew of his chest, feeling the rise and fall of it. It is quiet now, pensive and intense just as his love, his words and body are— in fact, now the thought had struck you, there is not a single mild, forgettable quality within the man.

It’s quiet for a while before he speaks.

“Stay with me tonight.”

So you close your eyes and fall into a dreamless sleep.

~

He knows his sin is unforgivable. He is beyond salvation, unreachable and untouchable—the man who fell into an angry, molten cesspool of sexuality. Late night rendezvous and broken hearts; stolen kisses and lies have become routine and he can’t help but want _more._

This time, Hyuk chugs down his liquor. The bitterness is refreshing.

~

He’s drunk when you return.

With a bottle hanging loosely in his palm, wide shoulders hunched in and hair so disheveled that it covers his eyes—he stands in the hallway. He stands with a forced, disingenuous courage you know he has forced out from the very depths of his character. Pathetic. Weak. You pity him, hate him and love him all at once.

_I did this. I had this power. It was all me._

”Sweetheart,” you start with a cruel smile. “Are you alright?”

“... it’s been two nights.”

Edging closer, the soft _click_ of your heels echoes through the hallway. You saunter towards the bomb that threatens to explode. He’s been waiting for you and you’ve been waiting for _this._

“Yes, it has been,” he blocks the entrance into the living room with his arms and you let out a sigh.

His breathing is ragged and fills the silence between the two of you.

“Hyuk, can you move? I’ve had a long day and I’d like to relax.”

His fingers tremble as they take hold of your wrist, even as they are warm on your skin—even as the pressure increases and his grip is crushing you— they just won’t stop _shaking._ You wonder, for a moment, whether he’s afraid or angry.

”No.”

A laugh bubbles from your throat and you try to retract your wrist. His grips tightens, each breath he takes gets heavier and he finally dares to look you in the eyes.

He’s been crying.

”No?” You parrot. He stands firmly and weakly, like a beautiful flower that is beginning to wither.

”We need ta talk...” he’s slurring his words now, one hand gripping the doorframe for better balance.

You make a sound of agreement.

”We can talk on the couch, if you move out of my way—”

Another hand shoots up to the collar of your blouse and he yanks you closer to him with such ease you suddenly remember his strength. He’s drunk, he’s out of his senses yet carries, simultaneously, both a fortified strength and ceaseless weakness about him. This can’t end well.

”Shut. the. fuck. up,” he practically snarls, strands of spittle gleam on his teeth and you note the absence of all light in his eyes. “Shut up! Stop acting so in control of everything, stop acting so strong— I _know_ you’re hurting!”

He speaks with such heavy shame, that his voice dies in his throat. The last words of his rant are so quiet, if it were not for your proximity they would have been lost on your ears.

_”You know what I’ve done.”_

A beat of silence, your heart bleeds and then you speak.

”You’re right,” he winces at your acknowledgement but you continue. “I know everything. I’ve always known, you were hardly discrete.”

“But what is drinking yourself to death going to do? Are you punishing yourself? Do you finally feel bad for what you’ve done?” 

His body begins to shake, eyes watering and finally he explodes— his knees buckle and give way. He drags you to floor with him but he is silent.

What an atrocious loneliness he possesses.

”I’ll never stop feeling bad.”

You raise a brow at the raw honesty in his words. Hyuk and you are birds of a feather, cheaters and liars and thieves; both the victims and perpetrators in this senselessly violent game of tug and war. He pushes and you pull, you pull and he pushes... all to see who can rip each other’s hearts out first.

Lightly, you kiss his mouth and work your arms around him. He can smell Taekwoon, you know he can.

”I hope you’re telling the truth this time.” A gentle whisper, brimful with sincerity leaves you.

Finally, he releases you. Walking into your bedroom, you hear drunken sobs echo in the hallway behind.


	3. Torn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A decision needs to be made.

The next time you fuck Taekwoon, you feel as though you’re on fire. His kiss is all tongue and teeth, a rasp of stubble grazing your cheeks and uncut fingernails digging into soft skin. You keep your eyes closed. Tonight, you cannot face him.

”Shirt off...” you mumble against the crook of his neck and he obliges eagerly.

There he is, all pale and perfect as though he is made of pearlescent moonlight. He shines on dark nights like these— secret nights that overflow with passion and regret; that are sounded by a cacophony of breathy moans and quiet tears. 

Electricity surges through your fingers, they fumble around the buckle of his belt clumsily, hurriedly and Taekwoon pauses before pushing your hands away and doing it himself.

The tension in the air is overbearing, the pressure is so tight that it feels as though the slightest movement will make it _snap_.

With nervous urgency, your skirt is flung into some forgotten corner of the bedroom and you lie on your stomach, arch your back with practised ease and wait for him to enter you.

Warm fingers circle your clit and you recoil, sickened by the touch.

”What— you’re completely dry.” He sounds a little taken aback, you can hear a flush of embarrassment in his voice.

”Hurry up. Fuck me.”

A sharp intake of breath and his fingers return to the dull throbbing between your legs. This time you jerk away and finally look into his eyes. His are wide, almost innocent compared to the narrowed darkness of your own.

”You’re dry.” He repeats.

”Does it fucking matter? Hurry up and fuck me before I lose my patience and get someone else to do it!” Empty words create an even emptier threat but he is visibly shocked.

You need to be dry tonight. The burn, the pain is something you crave. You can almost taste it on your tongue, feel that god-awful pulsing in your veins. Tonight, you hope Taekwoon will rip you apart.

“I-“ he begins, but doesn’t end. Instead he positions himself at your entrance.

 _It hurts,_ is all you can think, _but it hurts so good_ is all you can feel.

He grunts from behind you; teeth gritting and grinding in concentration. Every muscle in your body is tense, your bones are bent at a sharp, unnatural angle. He tries to push himself in further and a strangled cry leaves your throat.

”Keep going.” You breathe out, feeling his grip on your waist loosen.

”You sure? We can do this another—“

“I said keep fucking going!” Desperate pleads turn to strict orders. Covered head to toe in a light sheen of sweat, eyelids bleeding away—you almost laugh at the irony. You feel as though you’re drowning.

Every time he moves an inch, you cry instinctively. Like a car in heat, you rock up against his cock, gorging on the pain like some wild, starving animal. He sighs. It’s too much. Too hot. It feels wrong. You lie there, still like a corpse, and Taekwoon stares at you with concerned, mildly curious eyes. He crouches in front of you.

“What’s wrong with you?”

”What’s wrong with me? What’s wrong with you? Why did you stop when I told you I can take it?”

Like a madwoman, you reject his quiet comfort in favour of a wild, lecherous hysteria. Tugging on his shoulders, you try with all your might to bring him closer to you.

”We can try again. It’s okay.” And he sighs once more. This time, his chest seems to heave a little more, a little harder as though his body seems to be weighed down by some mysterious, supernatural force. Taking your hands, he pulls them downward and begins to draw cool circles on your flesh.

“I’m not having sex with you while you’re like this. Tell me what’s wrong.”

You open your mouth before abruptly shutting it. The realisation dawns upon you, it drowns you in a myriad of waves— the sea of your deceit. You _can’t_ tell him what’s wrong. 

”I don’t want to talk about it.” His eyes are so beautiful, so compassionate. They are full of light, full of life and pure goodness. He is your polar opposite, the living anthesis of your character and you can’t help but want him more for it. The guilt is unbearable.

He nods, with wisdom and understanding, and draws you into an embrace.

Silently, you apologise to him.

~

Hyuk’s new album tops the charts. Like a king sat on his throne, his reign over the number one spot is undoubtedly powerful although possesses surprising longevity—even for an artist as renowned as him. He is inescapable; his face and music and voice and everything is _everywhere_. A hectic promotional schedule, however, allows you to escape him in the comfort of your own home.

Days of cold and weeks of silence are both comforting and cruel.

A buzz from your phone snaps you out of your thoughts and you glance down at the screen.

From Sanghyuk: I miss you 

After careful consideration, you begin to type back and are not surprised when the message is read instantly.

_To Sanghyuk: I miss you too._

~

The _tick tick ticking_ of the clock fills Hyuk with a bitter sense of nostalgia. It takes him back to a simpler time, a time of young love and innocence and faithfulness. He remembers, in particular, your first date.

It was a quiet affair, awkward and Hyuk can still feel how his goose-pimpled flesh warmed under your fingertips; how you swallowed down your own nervousness so you could ease his. As you both took your first steps into the beautiful, bloody world of romance—the _tick tick ticking_ of a cafè clock sounded distantly. He had liked you so fucking much, Hyuk realises and then wonders for a moment _what happened?_

When did the brightness in your smile dim in his eyes, when did you lose your beauty to him? He heaves a sigh at his own cruelty. When did your heart, rich with a scaturient love, not become enough for him? _No,_ he inwardly chastises himself, _how_ would be the more appropriate question.

It’s the closing of his studio door that takes him away from the ticking of the clock and back to an unbearable reality.

Eunseo sits opposite him, with hopeful eyes.

”Have you done it?” She asks in a disgustingly cheery tone. Hyuk resists the urge to vomit.

”No.” The clock taunts him, ticking louder in the tense silence that follows.

Eunseo’s jaw tightens and she licks her lips nervously. Those lips, so plump and soft and forbidden. She almost looks confused.

”Well,” she begins “why not? You went home the other night, didn’t you? Was she there— did you speak to her?”

A plethora of questions are asked, his temples burn and his hands shake and he doesn’t even know where to begin.

”Yeah, she was at home.” He forces out.

Eunseo looks unimpressed, her brow tightly raised and arms crossed. She looks so beautiful when she’s angry.

”So what did you do? Talk to me, Sanghyuk, you’re gonna need to give me more than that for this to work!” The way she says his name is so resemblant of your desperate pleading all those weeks ago, when you booked that birthday trip. Regret lays itself heavily on his chest. He wishes he had gone.

“I didn’t fucking do it, Eunseo! Is that what you wanted to hear?”

”You didn’t do it or you _couldn’t_ do it?”

He wants to be shocked, he wants to be horrified and offended and betrayed at her lack of faith in him. Instead, with his head hung low, he nods in agreement.

  
”I couldn’t do it.”  


  
She looks at him with large, knowing eyes. He is no match for a woman’s intuition.  


”What happened?”

He shrinks into himself a little at the question, completely and utterly ashamed.

”—She was my first love, I’ve spent all my life with her. It’s...hard to just give all of that up.”

“So you’d rather string me along?”

”It’s not like that.” His voice is pleading, his eyes hurt—fuck he’s so hungover.

She huffs and leans forward, nostrils flaring and eyes narrowed. 

“You had one fucking job. Go home and break it off with her so _we_ can be together. One. Fucking. Job.”

”I’ve hurt her—I’ve cheated on her!”

”She’s cheating on you too!” She screams the words, loud for all the world to hear and Hyuk feels as though he’s going to faint. He knows. He’s known for a long, long time.

”I’m pushing thirty now, Sanghyuk! I want marriage, I want a family, I want kids and if you can’t give that to me then for fucks sake—don’t waste my time!”

In essence, her words are logical. Hyuk knows he can’t be the puppeteer for much longer—his grasp on the strings that control Eunseo are wearing thin, a single move away from snapping.

”Think about who is it you want.” She’s there one second and gone the next.

He breaks down into tears, whispering an apology that you will never hear.


	4. Attempt

”I want to take you out on a date.”

His voice is almost unrecognisable. Hoarse and dry; a ghost of what it used to be. For a spit second, you think he’s choking.

You turn to look at him. He stands outside your bedroom, only a footstep away from entering. His body is trembling, his hands are balled into nervous fists and it’s all so reminiscent of when he first asked you out.

_Sanghyuk, the boy who lived and breathed music, handed you a love letter. You stared at his quivering mouth, the shakiness in his limbs before it had all clicked. He was too nervous to speak. With a boyish innocence, he inched closer to you under the cascade of cherry blossoms flying through the wind and—_

“...If you don’t mind.” He adds quickly under the hot intrusiveness of your gaze.

You love him so much.

”Why?”

He scratches at his hands, picks at his fingernails and answers. It is then you realise that he’s not asking you. He’s begging.

”Please.” You realise his eyes are watering. As you walk closer, he inches into the bedroom which you once shared. Instinctively, you give your command.

“Don’t.” You shake your head. “Don’t come in.”

He obeys instantaneously, like a dog would their master and keeps his eyes on the cold laminating of the hallway floor.

How much more reprehensible can he get? His gall appears to be ceaseless, his impertinence is an intrinsic part of his sad, slimy being but his eyes are ashamed. They tug on your heartstrings. You heave a sigh.

“What time is good for you?”

”...I was thinking an evening reservation. You still like Italian, right?”

Nodding, you take a seat on the edge of your bed. With Kwon Eunseo clutched tightly in the palm of his hand, he’s erased your history together. The good, the bad, the beginning and now the end are all an intangible, nebulous mess and there’s no coming back. 

”Yeah. Just text me when you’ve booked a table.”

He has the nerve to smile at this, smile at you. His teeth are pearly white, eyes glimmering at the false promise of redemption and you can barely look at him. Stuttering out a breathy ‘thank you’, he bounces down the hall out of your vision.

You regret everything.

~

The car ride is quiet. The autumn air is biting, nipping, gnawing at your hands so you rub them. It’s a dark, starry night that is illuminated by silvery moonlight. Peering out of the window, you face away from Hyuk in the driver’s seat, to admire it.

”I didn’t expect it to be this long of a drive,” you can hear the nervous smile on his face. “Should be around half an hour before we get there.”

“Yeah?” It’s strange, how limp your tongue goes around him, how the words are lost before they even leave your mouth.

”Yeah.”

He reaches over and and holds your hands. You let him for a while, relishing in the shared warmth. Tonight, you want to fall in love again.

~

A soulful jazz melody tingles about the place. It’s fancy, you realise. So fancy that it borders on pretentious, with high crystalline chandeliers and a pearlescent decor. A band plays on a podium and the musicians are highly focused, plucking away fervently at their instruments. It’s stifling. 

Hyuk smiles at you with a boyish anxiousness as though to ask if you like it. He must truly be desperate to make amends, to heal the wound in your heart if he willing to break the bank like this.

”I made a reservation under the name ‘Han.’” The boy who works the reception is a little taken a back, perhaps at Hyuk’s celebrity status and sprints across to who you presume, is his manager.

”Mr Han, please come this way.” He smiles with overwhelming, insincere hospitality and Hyuk takes hold of your hand, squeezing it in anticipation.

You’re lead upstairs to a balcony, decorated with flowers and pearls and silk. A table stands in the centre and Hyuk walks over, pulling a chair back for you to sit on.

The chivalry isn’t lost on you, a smile blooms on your cheeks alongside a pink blush. It’s been so long since you were _romanced._ Not lusted after or fucked or taken advantage of. You want him to woo you tonight, to take out his scalpel and dissect your relationship. Cut out the bad, repair what can be repaired, stitch up the wounds that were made from his own two hands so you can heal together.

”All this for me?”

He nods sheepishly. “I wanted it to be just us tonight. More...intimate.”

He beckons the waiter and you order the dish that is easiest to pronounce on the menu. The prices listed are enough to make your eyes bulge out of their sockets but Hyuk only laughs and tells you that time spent with you is priceless so you should pick whatever you want.

It isn’t long before silent regret engulfs you once more. Secrets and lies and senseless, ravenous lust are the foundation of the home you have built together.

”Its been so long since we’ve just sat down together.” Hyuk remarks in passing whilst fiddling around with some decorative flowers and you wince a little.

”Too long.”

He’s silent for a few moments, face somber and eyes containing a startling thoughtfulness. The only sound is the breeze rushing past.

”Do you think this is what made us drift apart? Not having time for each other?”

It takes you by surprise but you entertain the thought, playing around with the possibilities of what has and could have been.

“We had the time for each other. We just didn’t want to spend it with each other.” Now it’s his turn to wince. His neck flushes crimson in embarrassment, fingers tapping against the table nervously.

”Yeah.”

The waiter shuffles in with your food and the mood is lightened. It’s a vicious cycle of intensity and ruthlessness followed by jest and tenderness. There is no middle ground between the two of you, no balance—only painful, painful extremity that you will never be rid of.

”What is he like?” Hyuk asks with niggling discomfort, slurping away on his pasta dish as though it lightens the load.

”Taekwoon?” You ask and he nods. This is awkward, a disgusting topic of conversation and you consider nosediving off the balcony. Instead, you sip your wine and answer.

”He’s... sweet.” You struggle for the right words but settle on the most vague of them all.

”Hm.”

Hyuk wants to know more, he needs to know more. Who is this man that has enamoured his girlfriend so badly? What does he have that Hyuk doesn’t?

”Yeah. He’s a few years older than me but he’s got such an old soul. Like he understands everything, has an answer for every problem. It’s...comforting.” Hyuk is tense with jealousy as you are with regret. In your heart of hearts, you know Taek deserves more than a cheat of a woman who sports a broken heart.

”What about Eunseo? What drew you to her?”

He coughs uncomfortably. Hyuk hates vulnerability, he can’t stand shedding his thick, idol skin— that unbearably confident, untouchable persona. But you demand it. He knows better than to deny you after your own honesty.

”It was her face. I always found her pretty, I think that’s what made her so likeable to me.” You smile at him and his withdraws like a soldier in a rout.

His desires are shallow, built upon appearance and the cold exterior of an attractive woman. You reflect upon your own relationship with Taekwoon and how it all began in that seedy bar. How tawny his skin was, the bulging protrusion of his Adam’s apple, his quiet air of confidence and how it made you ache for him. How in your own heartbreak, you found comfort in those pillowy lips and strong arms. Everyone is shallow, you suppose.

”She is pretty.” You agree and he downs his wine.

The unspoken question is one you both dance around carefully. If too much is revealed, this moment of tenderness will take the wrong turn and irreparable damage will be done.

It’s hard not to ask though. You’ll always wonder whether he loves her or not.

”The bill, please.” He smiles over at the waiter and pays, leaving a generous tip.

The car ride is silent, once more.

~

He’s kissing you.

The wine has dulled your senses, locked away all your inhibitions with a sterling silver key and instead, brought out your innermost desires. He’s kissing you and you kiss him back, purely because you want to.

Hyuk is burning against your flesh, your cold bedsheets are warm again. All you can do is tangle your fingers in his hair and—

 _”Hyuk_...”

”I’m here princess. I’m here for you,” he moans against your skin, kissing his way down your chest. You feel the tension in his jaw, the unwavering fear he feels in his quest to prove his worth. 

_I’m here for you and he isn’t._

He, the brave knight, will slay the dragon named Taekwoon, who has entrapped his princess in a way so twisted that she enjoys his torture. He will break her out of her confines and embark on a journey to the land of happily— ever—after where they will live in harmony and luxury.

Delusion.

A simple dream.

”Hyuk, get off.” You push him away and he looks up with wide, confused eyes.

“Huh? Have I done something wrong?”

“No, I just—“ you breathe out. “I don’t want to do this. I’m not ready.”

”Oh. _Oh._ ”

The last time you had been this close, he moaned the name of another woman in your ear. You physically can’t be this close to him. It feels wrong, it is wrong and it will never be right.

No amount of romantic dinners or candlelit surprises will change that.

His shoulders are slumped with defeat as he makes his exit. It’s only until he’s out of your view, out of earshot that you let yourself break down into tears.


	5. Movement

He wonders if there’s anything left to salvage.

Your love, once a blazing beautiful fire, is now nothing but a sad collection of embers— forgotten memories and tragic endings.

Your eyes are devastating. Cold yet warm; lost yet found and so completely heartbroken. He’s tired now, the damage is irreparable. Just as he leaps over the hurdle, another one appears in its place and you, the finish line, move further and further away.

”What am I doing?” He asks himself, under incandescent moonlight.

He is met with silence.

Everything has been lost, but there is still so much to gain. With Eunseo, there is optimism and hope—a fresh start and bright future. A family and kids. He closes his eyes and envisions it all. Coming home after a long day, cracking open the front door to twins, a boy and a girl, both bursting with affection. The crackling of the stove and a fragrant, spicy smell wafting through the air. He follows the scent, he chases domestic bliss and when he reaches the kitchen he finds his soulmate. Her hair is tied loosely into a bun, back facing his way and stirring bubbling broth. He sees the maternal curve of her stomach, the child within and he could cry from joy. She turns to face him.

You look so beautiful.

He swallows down hard, picks at his fingernails with guilt that has penetrated the deepest depths of his subconscious. Procrastination has gotten him no where; the only thing he needs to do is _do_. It’s time.

~

The working day is dull. Shuffling through paperwork, clicking your mouse with an absent mind and scrolling through badly written articles with click-bait titles hardly makes for an adventure.

 _How to reach a size 10 overnight_ catches your eye. You’ve been meaning to lose a couple of pounds.

In an ideal world, you would be a poet. You’ve always been inclined towards literature, gifted with the ability to write beautifully, naturally. Words flow like water from your fingertips, creating poignancy that could shatter glass. Instead you are here, sorting through reports that mean nothing to you.

”Knock knock!” Sejeong, the floor receptionist, calls outside your cubicle before peeking her head in. You don’t like the look on her face, it’s much too excited—bordering on mischievous.

“Come in, I guess?”

She stumbles in, arms held behind her back while smiling freakishly wide.

”I’ve got a surprise.” Her voice is lilting, she’s practically bouncing on the spot and you feel a searing headache form in the back of your head.

”I don’t like surprises.”

She only tuts at your pessimism and brings forth a vibrant, full bouquets of dandelions. They’re luscious and white with an intricate ribbon tied around them.

You feel your heart sink.

”Oh. Thank you, Sejeong.” She passes them to you and you feign a smile. 

A small card is lodged in between the flowers, you pull it out with resignation. You hate romance, you hate love and the weakness it inspires from you.

_I love thee with a love I seemed to lose With my lost saints._

__

_I love thee with the breath, Smiles, tears, of all my life;_

_and, if God choose, I shall but love thee better after death._

__

_Dandelions symbolise new beginnings. Together, let’s start anew._

__

_—Taek_

It takes every ounce of strength for you to not collapse.

~

Taekwoon hums to himself, tapping his foot to a melody only he can hear.

The meeting room was stifling, the board of producers were insufferable but his excitement is palpable. It surges through him, shocking each cell into action. He can’t wait.

It seems as though fate is on his side, this time. His story, the struggling artist, is not unheard of. Long days and sleepless nights spent hunched over a keyboard, perfecting pitch and clarifying vocals have finally paid off.

He can’t wait to tell you the news.

The new beginning that he’s envisioned is so close he can almost taste it. With you by his side, he is a man reborn. He can do anything so long as you are with him, he knows it now— he knows he’s in love. Taekwoon has spent his life shying from emotion, denying the realities of life but it is time to wake up now. The world is so beautiful these days, grey is drowned out by flashing, brilliant colours that are so bright he sees them even with closed eyes. 

He wonders if you’ve received the flowers yet. Taekwoon has never been one for love but you, beautifully vulnerable you, are so much more. He’s tired of seeing you so sad, sick of seeing you swallow a thick, bitter pain that burns your tongue.

He will bring you joy again.

You cried on his shoulders, like an animal wounded, begging for him to take your body. A woman with no self worth, a human without purpose. Taekwoon, for the first time, had seen what a broken heart looked like. Pure depravity. It disgusts him, awakens a deep indignation for whoever has done this to you.

When will you leave him?

”Jung Taekwoon?” He’s snapped out of his thoughts. Looking up, he sees the face of his idol, the voice that changed his life.

”Yes,” he stands abruptly, shaking the hand of the manager. “It’s such a pleasure to meet you.”

A chuckle, and then he answers.

“Thank you. I’m excited to hear what you’ve got. Manager Kim tells me you’re extremely talented.” Han Sanghyuk, the legend himself, shakes his hand. He’s going to produce a Han Sanghyuk song.

He’s going to compose. He’s going to be with you. He’s going to succeed.

Nothing is past salvation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys :( I’m not feeling confident once this story anymore. I don’t know what it is but I’ve been doubting my skills so much that I’m not sure if I can’t even call myself a writer anymore.
> 
> I’ll continue to write this story, even if no one reads it but I can’t describe the feelings I have. It’s just weird. I’m sure I’ll get over it though


	6. Go

”Taek, I need to tell you something.”

Eyes snapping up, they’re wide and startlingly expectant. All of his attention is focused firmly on you, overwhelmingly so and your throat constricts a little at the sight. There’s a vice around the flesh, just _pushing pushing pushing_ down and your chance at redemption is lost.

He smiles a little, in a way that’s absurdly pretty (when is he not?), and you lean forward to embrace him. Comfort and warmth and consolidation flow from his pores, they seep from his skin and you need to feel it. It’s an esoteric selfishness that jerks your limbs around his, but still a selfishness nonetheless. Inexcusable but ravenous.

”I-I’m so proud of you, baby. You’ve come so far.”

There’s bottles of beer strewn about the table, abandoned barbecue wings that are piled up in a container (you don’t have much of an appetite these days); the air between you is light and buzzing with choruses of laughter. For the first time, Taek is beaming with unadulterated, raw happiness—shining in brilliant lights. Who are you dim that glow? 

He flushes at the words, sweet thing is he, holding you closer to him. The solemn, surreptitious sliding of your limbs is lost upon him and the shame becomes unbearable.

You lie to yourself, swearing you’ll do it tomorrow.

~

He just can’t seem to get it right. The notes are trapped in his throat, lodged between the worn muscles of his larynx and stifling anxiety that’s pooling in his gut.

The new producer is watching him through the glass, smiling in consolation and Hyuk swallows down a cold, derisive laugh. As if _he_ needs pity points from some newbie composer who hasn’t got a single penny to his name—he’s Han Sanghyuk— and that’s reason enough to have confidence in his talent.

It’s a special song, a ballad dedicated to his true loves, his fans. The ones who have placed him on a high pedestal, worked in luscious golds and silvers, and made him an untouchable, intangible being. To him, he is their God and the thought almost brings him to tears.

Is God truly so pathetic?

He sings for them. He will always sing for them. With the mask he carefully crafted upon debut, with the voice that has become his life, he’ll sing of decadent, deathly loves and bittersweet tragedies. His acolytes are bad judges of character, in love with a man who doesn’t exist but he’ll happily feed into their fantasy. Sanghyuk, above all, knows the pain that comes with facing reality.

”Let’s take it from the top.” Taekwoon calls through the mic and Hyuk can hardly contain his grimace.

He’s never been above petulance. Sanghyuk has always been the whiny, playful type—the one who pouts his way to victory in variety shows and charms his way into the public’s heart— but this is different. This is brooding and vicious; bringing forth a cold animalism that Hyuk didn’t know existed inside him. He looks at this _Taekwoon_ like snake about to strike, fangs bared and coated in venom. Bite him. Do it. Bite him. Bite him. He wonders if the universe is toying with him, testing to see just how much self-restraint he has.

”Alright.” He nods and a rich, sonorous beat begins to play into his headphones.

It’s stupid, really, to hate someone because of their name but a niggling, unwavering suspicion lives inside of Hyuk. He can’t help but wonder if this is sheer coincidence or something more.

~

It’s during the first snowfall of December, that you realise he’s the one.

The snow falls in modest white specks, gliding through the winter sky. The air is biting tonight, cruel yet comforting. You let it engulf you wholly.

A mother and son make their way down the street, the child skipping along playfully whilst loving, deft fingertips pull at his hat so it doesn’t fly off in the breeze. The scene is tender, heart-wrenching and you feel yourself crumple in a little. 

_want it i want it iwanti I want it i wantitwanti want_

So you picture yourself in that woman’s shoes. Her child is yours now, yours to love and so it’s you tugging at his hat and intertwining your fingers with his (the last thing you’d want is for him is to slip, no, that would be a nasty fall).

Next to you stands his father, eyes glinting with a saccharine, unfiltered adoration. There is no one you’d rather be with than him. He is the one you dream of a life with.

Doubling over in laughter, you recognise the error of your ways. Stupid stupid stupid! The answer has always been there, shining incandescently. It’s you who has been blind to it.

~

It’s different tonight. His shoulders are heavy with lament, eyes watery with shame but this is long overdue. He was never going to find happiness here in this twisted house with this twisted woman and with his twisted self. Everyone is better off this way.

”Can you sit down for a moment?”

She looks over at him, brows furrowed in questioning and frowning as though she doesn’t even want to be here—be with him.

”I-I don’t want to drag this on,” he begins, wringing his hands nervously in his lap. “I’m not going to waste your time. I’ve done enough of that.”

_”What?”_

“...I don’t want to do this anymore. We’re, uh, not right for each other. I see that now and I think we should end now, while we still can.”

Eunseo sits quietly and he can see the cogs whirring and the response she’s so carefully formulating, but all that comes out is:

”You’re disgusting.”

He winces. She really means it, he can tell. There’s no restraint, no pretence—just _acid_. It burns and burns and burns but he maintains his façade. He needs to feel like a man again.

”It was never going to be me, was it?” She smiles bitterly, meandering around the sofa to the minibar. She pours herself a drink, some hard and bitter concoction, before sparing him a final glance.

“Get out.”

He mumbles a soft, small apology and it falls upon deaf ears. Leaving her home, he feels a cool sense of relief, like ice upon scorched skin. She’s gone, in the past and Sanghyuk’s eyes are firmly planted ahead. It’s the future that matters now. Where one door has shut, another has opened.

He prays silently that you’ll let him in.

~

”Can I have a hot chocolate and one coffee—black, two sugars?” After some consideration he decides to order a few cream-filled eclairs. You’ve always had a monstrous sweet-tooth.

He retreats to booth at the back of the room, inaccessible to any wondering eyes but resigns himself to people watching (he tries not to think about how you agreed to meet up at 11:45 and it’s now 11:56).

You walk in. His heart skips a beat.

There’s something on your mind, he knows it, he can see it in you. Still, he smiles warmly and offers you the confectionaries. (“No thank you, Hyuk.” You decline with a distant, polite tone and it makes his skin crawl.)

It comes spewing out like hot, volcanic ash. Saccharine. Suffocating. There’s no calculation, his desperation is raw and primal— it bleeds from his eyelids and weighs crushingly heavy on his voice and you almost look scared at it.

_Please please please please please, I’m different now, I’m a changed man._

Momentarily, all that is heard is the clanking of plates and whistle of wind chimes as someone enters the shop. The world is stagnant and hurling out of orbit, all at once.

”No,” your head is hung low, speaking more to yourself than him. “No, this can’t be right, this isn’t supposed to happen!”

”You were supposed to be with her, with Eunseo, and I was— I was —“ Cutting yourself off, your eyes snap back to Hyuk. A sharp intake of breath, Hyuk realises is an attempt to collect yourself.

”I’m sorry. I just don’t love you anymore.”

It’s a blur after that, you’re here one second and gone the next. He stares into the untouched hot chocolate with hollow, unblinking eyes.


End file.
